actually this is the best picture i have of my gray contacts ironically

Home for Christmas

New York is vibrant in winter. Ask any poor soul caught in the heaving crowds, and they will tell you so. 

It’s alive with the streaming melodies of carols and the scintillating lights that add just that much more color to the streets. The snow reflects the hues, softening the harsh, brightness into a gentle shimmering that reminds Marinette of tears and smiles.

Fashion is all well and good, and it’s her passion that’s brought her here. 

She forgets how much she left behind, when caught in the rush of winter runways and draping fabrics.

But it’s over for now. There is a small lull in activity as designers and models return home for the season. They settle in with their luggage and luxury, first class flights home or to tropical destinations.

Marinette had been invited to several exotic destinations already, but she had kindly declined with a muted smile on her face.

But no one seems to notice that it never reaches her eyes.

And so here she is, in a small hotel room, looking out at a sparkling New York, with snowflakes dusting the window she has pressed her hands against. 

“I want to go home for Christmas.” She says quietly, and she wonders if it would be okay to give extra work hours and opportunities. Her heart is strained. It’s filled to bursting with a desire for warmth and family and home.

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